This is a story that was printed in the "hard copy" Recovery Time September, 1995 ANY PORT IN A STORM.


           While on holiday on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, South Nags Head, milepost 19.5, to be exact, I was walking the beach south of our cabin on the ocean, clearing the beach of the bottles and cans that had washed on shore following a storm. As I took one arm full of refuse to the trash can, I noticed that in a beer bottle, the label long ago soaked from the dark brown glass, there appeared to be a piece of paper. Having written notes and placed them in a bottle years ago as a boy, I coaxed the paper from the bottle expecting to read a note from some pre-adolescent with a return address to which I could respond. No pre-adolescent, at least no non-addicted pre-adolescent, wrote what I found.

The enclosed letter was from someone obviously struggling with his sobriety. Having worked in the addiction field for 25 years, I was almost certain of the letter's legitimacy. I knew immediately that the letter needed a response, but it was not addressed to me and even if it had been, there was no "return address." But my years of working with addicts in various stages of recovery have taught me that answer to prayers, and I suppose letters too, often come in other than the expected fashion. So this is a response to Kevin's letter. Whether he reads it, or someone who knows Kevin from the few details spelled out in his letter reads it, or whether other "Kevin’s" read it, I feel compelled to respond to this letter, which, I believe, was placed in my hands for a reason.

 Kevin's letter: God, it's me again, Kevin. I'm writing to you like this because it seems like a good way to communicate with you. In a way, it seems like you're so far away from me these days, even though I know this isn't true. I'm angry with you, God. It's been about seven months since Christy died, and I'm still angry with you. Perhaps it's because I still don't understand why you let her die. Maybe it's because I feel guilty and have regrets, and I'm blaming them on you. I know I haven't let go of her yet, but I'm trying. You've kept me alive, and clean and sober through all of this. You've even sent angels to look over me. You've taken great care of my family. And I'm still angry at you. And I'm also somewhat scared of you. I've been very scared and very lonely the past few months that she's been gone. Right now, I'm wondering how do I find the courage to let others in, and let them love me, and love them in return? I really want so much to do these things, but I'm scared to. If you're still watching me, please help me find ways and opportunities to do these things. Please, take away my loneliness and show me that I'm really not alone and that you're still here to help me. And please forgive me for having my doubts.

Sincerely, Kevin

Dear Kevin: Excuse me for reading your mail, but I am taking the risk that you won't mind considering the method by which you chose to post it. I found your letter on the beach in South Nags Head, North Carolina, at approximately the 20-mile post, on 9 August of this year. I know it may seem as though, at times, God is a distant resource at best. But like the person who drifts out to sea on the changing tide and thinks it is the shore which has deserted him, it is likely you and usually me who have strayed from the closeness of God's presence. You say that you are angry with God; I believe that is not all that uncommon. What parent has not experienced the pain of a child's anger in response to her/his actions? How many children think that a parent's job is to provide what is wanted, when it is demanded, and rebuffs the parent who says nothing or does not respond as demanded? But, are we not all children of God, however we may understand God? Like the loving parent whose true awareness of what is best for the child results in a course of action which may be contrary to the child's demand, so does God, on occasion, answer our prayers and petitions with silence -- when silence is what we need.

You ask why God let Christy die. This is an age-old question and I do not presume to know why God does anything. But I do believe God loves us and all things that happen; happen for a purpose and that purpose may escape me at the moment of its occurrence. I learned a long time ago that death is a part of life and like the night, which helps define the day, death is part of the definition of life. And if we believe that God creates life and that death is a part of that creation, then this is, perhaps, why we and those we love die, Christy too. I know Christy's death must hurt and have created a void that only anger seems able to fill. But anger is really fear directed outward and I can only imagine that if I lost the "Christy" in my life, I too would be filled with anger, fearful that I could not go on, could not live or share or care or love. And if I thought God were responsible for this loss, I would be angry, no, furious as well. But sometimes, there are no answers that make sense, at least at the moment.

You wonder if not letting go of Christy is the cause of your pain. Remember, letting go is not a synonym for forgetting and forgetting someone as precious as Christy is not only impossible, but would necessitate forgetting a part of yourself and of the life which has been given to you by God. Perhaps, letting go is recognizing that there may be another, perhaps many, way to look at any hand, which we are dealt in this card game called life. Kevin, what you are feeling, as disquieting as it may be, is the proof that you are alive and, I might add, working on your sobriety. Pain may well be one of God's greatest gifts to us human beings because it is often pain, intense pain that motivates us to change in order to grow, especially when change is the last thing we want to do. It's OK to be scared and there is a difference between feeling lonely and being alone. The antidote for being scared is trust and being alone seems to dissipate in direct proportion to the extent to which we are willing to take risks. But both fear and loneliness are branches of the same vine which grows out of a single seed called doubt -- I doubt anyone is listening or if they are, that they care; I doubt that things will ever change; I doubt that there is a God and if there is, how could he/she care about a shit like me; and on and on.

Doubt begets fear which begets self-pity which begets anger which begets guilt which begets depression and active addicts find themselves caught-up in the vicious cycle of fear, self-pity, anger, guilt, depression, fear, self-pity, anger, guilt, depression, and so on. But it is not until the `tap root' of doubt is destroyed that one is able to break this cycle because it is the doubt that feeds the cycle and the addiction, which feeds the doubt. You ask that if God is still watching, that he/she help you find the courage and the ways and opportunities to address the anger and fear. I suggest that your prayer has been heard and that God has acted on your request. Your bottle could have sunk; it didn't. It could have been picked-up by someone who could not or would not understand your plight; it wasn't. It could have wound up in the trash as "garbage; it didn't. God does work in mysterious ways, frequently beyond our comprehension. For God's plan to succeed, I do not have to understand it, I do not have to approve of it, and I certainly do not have to modify it. All I have to do is trust that it will somehow work. The "doubts" for which you ask forgiveness are the emotional core of your addiction. Just as you do not need to be forgiven for being an addict, you do not need to be forgiven for having doubts. It is not the `having doubts' which is the problem; it is what do you chose to do in response to those doubts that can give rise to a problem? I suggest you keep on ‘tossing bottles into the sea,’ which, I think, is a great metaphor for taking risks in this life we have been given.

Peace,

Robert J. Chapman, PhD Coordinator, AOD Program La Salle University Philadelphia, PA chapman@lasalle.edu